RIP Grant McLennan

Always the modest one in the Go-Betweens next to Robert Forster’s arty stance. I remember reading Forster remark that McLennan had little ability to edit himself or judge his own work, so McLennan would come in with a dozen songs thinking that he was done, and Forster would throw out most of them. This is the sort of thing that doomed Ford Madox Ford (87 novels, according to Coetzee) to second-string status, but pop is more concise, and McLennan’s best still overshadows most of his competition.

His finest moments, for me: Cattle and Cane Dusty in Here

And one more obscure gem: Heaven Says